My life is a vast inconsequential epic.

It ain't whatcha write, it's the way atcha write it.

You seek identity in the midst of indistinguishab le chaos, in sprawling nameless reality.

I'll go to the south of Sicily in the winter, and paint memories of Arles – I'll buy a piano and Mozart me that – I'll write long sad tales about people in the legend of my life – This part is my part of the movie, let's hear yours

Sweet life continues in the breeze, in the golden fields.

But why think about that when all the golden lands ahead of you and all kinds of unforseen events wait lurking to surprise you and make you glad you're alive to see?

Pretty girls make graves